


Masochism Sanctified

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Cock & Ball Torture, Kneeling, M/M, Object Insertion, Objectification, Post-Seine Penance Kink, Submission, Valjean's Sanctified Masochism, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-11 21:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13532547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: In this room, Valjean is allowed no words. In this room, Valjean strips, kneels, waits, trembles, brings Javert his coffee or serves as his writing desk just as Javert pleases.





	Masochism Sanctified

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellamason](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellamason/gifts).



Javert lets his eyes rest on Valjean with gloating satisfaction. How many weeks has Valjean come to his rooms to pay penance? Javert has lost count. He knows only that with the passing days, what started out as madness developed into routine—no, more than that. It is a satisfaction he has come to crave just as much as Valjean has.

In this room, Valjean is allowed no words. In this room, Valjean strips, kneels, waits, trembles, brings Javert his coffee or serves as his writing desk just as Javert pleases. And there is something immensely pleasing to the way the man’s limbs bend to his command, the powerful body trembling as Javert makes him hold still with a simple gesture.

Today, Valjean is naked. That, too, pleases Javert, even more so because it is hard for Valjean, who flushes although he strips off his clothes with no protest, bending to Javert’s will as though the more taxing Javert’s demands, the more grateful he is.

There are days Javert has Valjean lick his boots, the martyr’s tongue cleaning the black leather with slow, careful licks until an hour has passed and Javert’s boots shine and Valjean is still on his knees, his neck bent as he suffers before some imaginary cross.

There are days he allows Valjean to pull off his boots and socks. Valjean’s tongue is pressed to Javert’s bare feet with the same abject martyrdom, his tongue hot and slow as it licks its path of suffering surrender around the bones of Javert’s ankle and into the small spaces between each toe.

There are days he rests his feet on Valjean’s trembling neck afterward. There are days—rare—when he makes Valjean kneel before him as he opens his trousers, stroking himself with slow, grim effectiveness as he makes Valjean’s blushing face watch.

There are days—not quite as rare—when he makes Valjean kneel before him with spread knees, naked and exposed. On those days, Javert reads the paper while his boot rests on Valjean’s balls, pressing down with relentless force, half wondering if this will be the day he will see Valjean struggle.

On those days, he will eventually abandon his paper in disgust and find Valjean still kneeling motionless before him, his eyes wet with tears and gleaming with an ecstatic suffering, his testicles purple and crushed beneath Javert’s heavy boot.

Tonight, Valjean is kneeling beside him, quiet and unmoving, facing away from Javert. Javert is writing a report. Every now and then he looks away from it to instead look his fill of Valjean’s bare back and buttocks, the sight of the exposed lash marks and the feel of them under his hands even now, so many years after he has left Montreuil, kindling a certain satisfaction.

A few days ago, he beat Valjean with a birch. Valjean took it quietly, and when he made Valjean kiss his hands afterwards, there were tears in Valjean’s eyes, and his lips lingered on each finger with soft gratitude.

But today, Javert has a report to finish, and not the leisure to go for a bundle of birch twigs or to make Valjean wash his scrotum with his tongue while he works. It is already dark outside, and the light of the candle Javert has lit no longer seems enough.

With a sound of annoyance, he opens a drawer and takes out another candle. Then he pauses, taking note of the way Valjean has tensed. All of the muscles of his powerful body are on display, as are the scars carved into his skin.

But now Javert’s eyes come to linger on his buttocks, and the dusting of hair in between. His fingers tighten around the candle. Then he reaches out and taps Valjean’s hip with his other hand.

“Up,” he commands brusquely, and then, when Valjean crouches on hands and knees before him, “No. Shoulders down.”

Valjean obeys without protest, although Javert can see the tension in his shoulders. Valjean would not protest; still, to expose himself is hard for him, which in turn makes it better.

Javert reaches out to touch the inside of Valjean’s thigh. He can hear Valjean’s breathing speed up as in turn, Valjean’s thighs spread apart. Javert knows that if he were to get up and walk around Valjean, his face would be flushed. Instead, he remains seated and looks at Valjean’s exposed anus. It is not the first time he has made Valjean expose himself to him. It is not the first time he has taken a candle even, tormenting Valjean’s testicles with the heat of the flame.

But today he has need of a different thing. It is late, and his report needs to be finished—and for this, in turn, he needs light.

He rests one hand on Valjean’s buttocks, keeping them spread. He spits on the end of the candle, then—careful but insistent—presses it against Valjean, pushing down hard enough to penetrate the tight ring of muscle despite the way Valjean’s thighs tremble.

Valjean remains perfectly still. Not a single sound escapes him, although his body tightens desperately around the length of the candle, as if to keep it from sliding deeper inside.

Relentless, Javert presses in, listening to the sound of Valjean’s shallow breathing as he makes the convulsing opening take more of the candle. Only when the smooth length has penetrated Valjean halfway does he cease.

He gives Valjean a considering look. Then he taps his thigh again. “Up,” he says, and watches how Valjean immediately raises his hips, his shoulders still pressed to the floor, until the candle is nearly upright.

It will do. He reaches out for the candle that has burned halfway down on his desk. Using it, he lights the candle held by Valjean. Then he smiles. The resulting light is enough to work by for another hour or two.

With renewed focus, he takes up his report once more. After a few minutes, he looks at Valjean again. The candle is still held nearly upright, but wax has begun to drip down. There is a first, white streak on Valjean’s scrotum, and as Javert watches, a second string of liquid wax drips from the candle, landing on Valjean’s testicles.

A shudder runs through Valjean, although he makes no sound. Still, it is enough to cause another drip of hot wax to fall from the candle, and Javert watches, pleased, how every muscle in Valjean’s thighs trembles as he remains obediently still.

The day has been long; Javert is exhausted, but there is much he has to note down. He has spent the day in disguise, observing the goings-on in a suspect wine-shop; now, hours of overheard conversations and gatherings need to be summed up, and when half an hour passes, Valjean is still kneeling as he has been told to, the candle raised high enough so that Javert can write.

It has burned down halfway; not only Valjean’s testicles are covered in cooled wax, but also the inside of his trembling thighs and the spread ring of his anus.

Javert smiles to himself as he thinks of the silver candlesticks the gossips of Montreuil once saw on his chimney-piece. What would they think of this sight?

Before he continues his work, he reaches out for the candle and twists it a little, making sure that it burns evenly. It is enough to make more liquid wax drip down, but even though Valjean’s tense thighs have to be sore, his heavy breathing is the only reaction to the hot wax hitting his shaft.

Satisfied with the use he gets out of Valjean this day, Javert returns to his work. Another half hour passes; when he finally signs the report to hand it in first thing in the morning, he is almost surprised to find that he is tired, his eyes burning after the long day.

He exhales deeply, leaning back in his chair as he rubs his eyes. Then he turns his head, finding Valjean much as he has left him, although the trembling of his thighs is now more pronounced, and his testicles are encased in a layer of hardened wax.

The candle has burned nearly all the way down. Javert watches it for a moment. Then he reaches out, taking hold of it. Carefully, he twists it a little, Valjean’s body shuddering. The opening that was so reluctant to accept the candle now seems disinclined to let it go; still, after a moment, Javert has worked it out, most of the hardened wax falling away from the trembling ring of muscle as Javert pulls the remaining length of the candle free from its warm sheath.

The candle is still burning; Javert lifts it and blows it out, then holds it out once more to pour the remaining hot wax gathered at the tip directly onto Valjean’s still spread anus.

Valjean’s back arches as the reddened muscle twitches in agony; still, his knees remain spread, and he keeps himself obediently exposed despite the way his breath audibly hitches.

Javert calmly returns the candle to its drawer and sorts his papers, returning pen and ink to their place.

“I’ve no more use for you today,” he says at last.

Trembling, Valjean raises himself to hands and knees again. Slowly, he turns around. His face is flushed, his eyes wet with tears and his white locks damp with sweat. Between his thighs, his shaft and testicles are covered in wax. His eyes are dark and serene, and Javert lets him kiss his hands. Between his own thighs, his prick expresses a faint interest in the use of Valjean’s mouth.

But it is late and he is tired, and Javert intends to be at the station-house early with his report tomorrow.

Perhaps, tomorrow evening, he will retire earlier, and perhaps, tomorrow evening, he will grant Valjean leave to show his penance with the warmth of his mouth instead, the soft tongue a well-deserved pillow for Javert’s prick as he finishes tomorrow’s report. Or perhaps, Valjean will kneel quietly at his feet, his bowels filled with the contents of a bottle of a cheap red wine, his stomach cramping at Javert’s feet as Javert works through his suffering.

Either way, he will have his penance, and either way, Valjean’s mouth will be warm and soft with gratitude afterwards.


End file.
